


More Than a Gift

by Yogaduck



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Birthday Presents, Eventual Fluff, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Pre-Reichenbach, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yogaduck/pseuds/Yogaduck
Summary: Watson, after finally discovering when Holmes' birthday is, goes out of his way to buy him something special. Holmes' reaction to his gift is not quite what he had in mind however...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 77





	More Than a Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Hope you all enjoy this one-shot :)
> 
> Yet again, a massive, enormous, heartfelt thanks to my wonderful beta, [ApprenticeofDoyle!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApprenticeofDoyle/pseuds/ApprenticeofDoyle)

Watson whistled contentedly as he made his way home through the bustling London streets, Holmes’ present tucked safely in its wooden box under his arm. It had been some months previously that Holmes had inadvertently let slip the date of his birthday, and now Watson’s planning had come to fruition. The date had come up in conversation late one evening after a case and several glasses of expensive bordeaux. Watson was more than certain that Holmes had completely forgotten divulging this particular piece of personal information, and he grinned deviously to himself rounding the corner onto Baker Street. 

Never too inebriated to observe details about Holmes, Watson had taken note by writing it in his personal journal, and for weeks he’d been pondering what to purchase for the occasion. Finally, inspiration had struck reading the morning newspaper. Holmes had taken extraordinary delight in explaining to Watson the genius of a new type of microscope that had only recently become available, thus, Watson hatched a plan. Overjoyed to have come across something that Holmes was certain to enjoy, he made inquiries immediately. Much to his chagrin however, Watson had not initially realised the difficulty he would face whilst procuring said ‘diatomic microscope’ - Lord only knows what the damned thing was called, something complicated and too long to remember, but armed with a newspaper cutting of the object he had set out determinedly on his mission. He had been to several specialist stores and suppliers and finally, after placing his order several days ago, he had received word that his parcel was ready for collection. Tomorrow was Holmes’ birthday and the timing could not have been more perfect. 

Holmes was out when Watson entered the sitting room of 221B, and he took the opportunity to examine his latest purchase out of its box. The gift had not been a cheap one, more than he could reasonably afford, but Watson had been determined to do this for the friend he owed so much. 

Being an expensive piece of scientific equipment, the microscope had been placed in a large wooden box and wrapped in a soft, lush cloth. Drawing back the wrappings that protected the bundle from harm, Watson laid eyes on the prize. It really was a beautiful tool. The metal was polished and shining, and the lenses pristine - so unlike Holmes’ current microscope, which had several scratches and scrapes from perhaps experimental use, a ‘far inferior piece of design’ in comparison to this new and improved one. 

Despite Holmes’ absence, Watson hastily reassembled the package and hurried up his stairs to conceal the parcel. He was extremely reluctant for his surprise and magnificent gift to be spoiled with an inopportune arrival. All the while, Watson found he was quite unable to stop himself from smiling just thinking of Holmes’ reaction to such an apt and extravagant gift. 

****

On the morning of Holmes’ birthday, Watson had woken early in order to place Holmes’ new microscope on his chemical table. All night he had racked his brains thinking of a way he could present his gift to Holmes, quickly dismissing the idea of wrapping it up and simply handing it to him, as he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the emotion out of his eyes. This way, when Holmes noticed the new addition to his scientific equipment on his desk, Watson would have a few moments to school his expression behind the convenient newspaper. He knew unchecked, his expression would doubtless shine with undisguised admiration and awe, revealing affection too candid to be dismissed, and Holmes would  _ know _ . 

As Watson settled himself at the breakfast table and waited for Holmes to emerge, he looked across at the gift once more, glinting in the soft morning light. There was no point denying it. He, John Watson, a seasoned war veteran, a realist, a man who had seen more suffering than most did in a lifetime, was excited over a microscope. He felt as giddy as a child on Christmas Day.  _ God, love does indeed make fools of us all.  _

In all honesty, he’d fantasized that when Holmes saw the gift, he would be so delighted he would pat Watson's hand or shoulder, or perhaps – albeit very unlikely – even embrace him. The idea made Watson fidget with nervous anticipation as opened his newspaper to the agonies. Usually his ache for Holmes' touch made him painfully self-conscious. What a simpering fool he was to be yearning for even the slightest of physical touches from his oblivious flatmate. Today however, he forced himself not to examine his motives too closely, lest it dampen his joyful mood. He heard Holmes shuffling about in his bedroom and Watson smiled to himself. He was so filled with trepidation that it was an effort to keep from grinning like a schoolboy.  _ Lovesick fool,  _ his mind whispered, but he stubbornly ignored it. 

Shortly, Holmes emerged from his room still clad in his nightshirt, with his mousy brown dressing gown thrown elegantly over his shoulders.

“Good morning, Watson.” Holmes chimed cheerfully, sweeping into the room. Before Watson could form a reply that was not some sort of squeak of anticipation, Holmes stopped dead, staring at his chemical table. He was silent for a beat until-

"What is this?!” he hissed icily, before continuing at a more audible volume, “What on Earth do you mean by this, Watson?!" Holmes' voice was venomous all of a sudden, and ripped through Watson like a carving knife. 

"It... it is for you, Holmes-" he stammered. 

"You are buying me presents now?!" he snarled. The words 'happy birthday' died on Watson's lips immediately. 

"What is the meaning of this?! Did you think just because we work together you can behave frivolously and buy exuberant gifts on a whim?! We aren't even  _ friends _ ... You really are pathetic Watson..." He turned, a hand flicking out dismissively to emphasise this last sentence. 

Watson froze. He couldn’t think. Of all the reactions he had pictured Holmes having to his gift, this was certainly not one of them. Shock reverberated through him like great waves of sound.  _ Not… friends _ ...? His vision swam. Holmes' words stung painfully, lodging in his chest like an icepick. With painful slowness, he folded the newspaper and placed it back on the table, trying to gather his thoughts in a straight line. Watson stood shakily to his feet as he scrambled to form sentences, his hands gripped together with painful tightness. 

"I... I'm sorry Holmes... I just... I wanted... it's your birthday and I... I wanted to..." He swallowed, his heart was stabbing painfully in his chest. "You... you're right... it was a foolish idea." He could feel tears pricking at his eyes and stared down at the carpet taking steadying breaths. "I'm sorry," He whispered, his voice breaking. “I will… return it immediately.” Without another word he walked to Holmes’ desk and delicately picked up the new microscope with trembling hands. Briefly looking down at his unwanted gift, shamefaced, Watson left the room, his heart in tatters. 

****

Holmes stood as still as a statue in the quiet, now empty, sitting room. A  _ birthday present _ …?! How had he forgotten his own birthday?

_ I’m a fool,  _ he thought, stunned at himself and his own decorum. Watson had evidently heard him talking about the latest highly powered microscope and had gone out to purchase him one specially… for his birthday. 

And what had he done? Thrown it back in his face like a child. Pathetic.  _ Good Christ, _ he had told him they weren’t friends! What had possessed him?! That was a blatant untruth, and moreover, contradictory to his own use of the word; Watson was his  _ only  _ friend, a confidant he introduced as such to strangers. 

Holmes groaned aloud, mortified. Was there no end to his vicious, nitroglycerin temper? In truth, the gift had scared him. Scared him out of his wits. For half a second, he had allowed himself the smallest spark of hope, the tiniest flicker of a flame igniting in his chest. Seeing that glimmering gift on the table, he’d granted his heart permission to see it as something else… the possibility that maybe, just... maybe, Watson could feel the same. That this gift was Watson showing his true affection for Holmes. 

But, just as quickly as the thought had entered his whirlwind of a mind, the twisting torrent had rejected it, ferociously. It could not possibly be the case, an impossibility –  _ he will never love you as you love him  _ – the pain of that realisation had snapped something deep inside him. He had reacted savagely, like a wounded animal biting the proffered hand in a vain attempt to save itself.

He was truly a despicable creature. Watson didn’t deserve his scorn. Just because Watson’s gift didn’t mean what Holmes ached for it to did not in any way justify his reaction. Recalling Watson’s face when he had said those words, that look of hurt confusion, was enough to make him immediately turn on his heel and seek out his friend. He would make amends for this. It was the least Watson deserved.

He climbed the stairs carefully, unwilling to risk Watson hearing him and locking his door to hide his wounded feelings. Holmes was going to mend this, and mend this now. 

He reached the upper landing and noticed Watson’s door was, very slightly, ajar. Through the tiny gap, he saw Watson sitting on his bed, cradling the microscope in both hands. He was staring down at it sorrowfully and, as Holmes watched, he stroked a thumb over the polished metal almost reverently. He held it closer to his breast for a moment before his face crumpled in anguish. He squeezed his eyes shut and a single drop of moisture made its way down his flushed cheeks. Holmes’ heart skipped a beat and he cursed himself again for his temper, for his biting tongue. He had truly upset Watson and the sight before him burned a hole in his chest.

"Fool… utter fool." Holmes heard Watson whisper to himself. The words seemed to pierce through him like a dagger. _No!_ _Dearest Watson, I am the fool!_

****

Watson couldn’t believe he had made such a foolish mistake. Of course his gift would not be welcome! His lovesick longing had made him blind to Holmes’ indifference to him. He  _ did _ not and  _ could _ not see Watson in that light. He didn’t even see them as friends! Watson’s heart ached painfully when he contemplated that apparent fact. He held the discarded gift closer to him as he sat on his bed willing himself not to shed the tears that threatened. But then he heard Holmes’ voice in his head again,  _ you really are pathetic, Watson, _ and he was lost. The anguish he was feeling came tumbling past the dam of his willpower and he let himself feel the hurt he had so desperately been trying to bury. He felt the hot tears slide down his cheeks and he burned with shame. 

“Fool… utter fool,” he whispered to himself. How he had ever imagined that Holmes saw him as anything other than a convenient form of rent relief and lackie, he didn’t know. Slowly, Watson stood and bent to retrieve the polished wooden box his gift had been packaged in from under the bed. His hands were still trembling violently, but he opened the lid of the box and began to wrap the shining new microscope back up in the fine cloth with utmost care. His movements were slow, prolonging the process in order to keep his hands busy. Lowering the bundle inside delicately, he replaced the lid. Sitting down on the bed again, he let his hand smooth over the surface of the box before his emotions once again won out, and he had to hurriedly stifle a sob that had bubbled up to the surface. Watson pressed his fist to his mouth firmly. He had to stop this weakness immediately. 

****

Hearing Watson sob had been entirely too much for Holmes who had stood frozen to the spot outside his room. He opened the door soundlessly and stepped into the room.

“Watson…” Holmes said softly, pleadingly.

Regardless of his softness, Watson jumped at the sound of his voice and stood abruptly. He whipped round so his back was to Holmes and ran his hands over his face in an attempt to hide his tears, making Holmes’ heart ache all the more.

“Dearest Watson…” Holmes tried again, coming further into the room so he stood not a foot from Watson who would still not look at him. ”I am so sorry… what I said was unforgivable, I…” His breathing refused to remain even and his whole being yearned to take Watson into his arms. “I had entirely forgotten it was my birthday and I… was caught off guard. I am a liar,  _ of course _ we are friends, my dear chap… I don’t know why my vicious temper said such a thing. Your friendship means more to me than I can say. I am… unused to such kindnesses… I have never before received such a thoughtful gift and I panicked. I…” Holmes’ voice was becoming more and more strained as Watson remained turned away, thus preventing him from gauging his reaction. 

“I am unworthy of you…” he said at last, all energy sapped from him as he continued to stare longingly at the back of Watson’s head. 

Watson turned sharply at those words and Holmes saw his eyes were full of fresh tears. Holmes gasped at the sight, Watson’s face portrayed such a look of tender affection that it quite took his breath away. 

“Nonsense,” Watson whispered fiercely. “Utter nonsense, Holmes, I am the unworthy one. I was a shell of a man when I met you. You have given me purpose, a reason to awake in the mornings. Our partnership has given me a second chance at life so I will hear no such nonsense from you.”

Holmes couldn’t help the magnificent smile that overtook his features in that moment any more than he could have helped stepping closer to Watson and raising a hand to his face. Watson beamed back at him and nestled into his touch. Hope soared through Holmes’ veins and he brushed his fingertips over Watson’s cheekbone.  _ Oh _ , how he had longed to do this many times before when he saw his Doctor smiling at him. 

Carefully, Holmes bent his head, his breath unsteady and his heart beating wildly. When he touched Watson’s lips to his own he felt his whole world tilt. They were softer than he could have possibly imagined and he lifted his hands to feel his hair, those silken locks, to memorise every sensation, every detail. 

****

It took Watson a mere second to get past his initial shock before he was pressing his mouth back against Holmes’, nipping closed lips. Holmes gave a low moan before granting Watson entrance. Watson’s hands shook as he ran them over Holmes’ features, caressing the high cheekbones, the arched brow, the aquiline nose and the sharp jawline. He smiled against his lips, letting his hands roam round to the nape of Holmes’ neck. His limbs trembled in Holmes' embrace as his mind attempted to catch up with events. Not two minutes ago he had thought Holmes lost to him, that his own foolish actions had caused irreparable damage to their friendship. And now… now he was kissing Holmes, feeling his strong, muscled shoulders beneath his fingers. This all seemed so impossibly unreal, but the pain of thinking he had destroyed the most precious friendship he had ever known made Watson respond with even more passion. He consumed Holmes’ lips with enthusiasm, letting their tongues dance together in perfect harmony. He wanted to devour him, delve inside his impossibly beautiful body to reach the kind and thoughtful soul that he knew lived beneath.

When at last they broke for air, Holmes refused to relinquish his hold on him any more than was absolutely necessary. He leant his forehead against Watson’s as he took in lungfuls of air. Watson on the other hand, was all too glad to stay within the circle of his arms and breathe in the exquisite scent of Holmes. He pushed his nose against Holmes’ affectionately and smiled broadly. 

“I am sorry I frightened you with my gift… but I can’t say that I’m all that sorry now..” Watson chuckled softly, his breath coming in short huffs. Holmes mirrored his smile with a grin of such joy that Watson could barely contain his urge to draw him in again for another kiss. 

“You know…” murmured Holmes, his lips skimming across Watson’s cheeks, his hot breath making Watson’s knees feel rather weak. “I wasn’t entirely truthful earlier…” Watson frowned very slightly, but Holmes placed a soft, reassuring kiss to the corner of Watson’s eye before continuing.

“I was scared… but not just because I am unused to such kindness, such thoughtful gestures. I was afraid… because…” He took a deep breath, his lips trembled as they continued to brush across his features. In that moment, Watson knew how much it was costing him to confess, to unburden his heart. He kissed Holmes’ nose in encouragement. “I allowed myself to hope as I had scarcely allowed myself to hope before. That you had purchased such a gift as a sign of your affection… That you felt for me something of the burning love that I feel for you, that which roars within me every day that it continues to go unacknowledged.”

Watson gasped very softly at this, staring into Holmes' anxious eyes. He wasted no time in reassuring him, determined to wipe the look of insecurity and fear from Holmes' beloved face. 

“My dear Holmes…” Watson said gently, “It is indeed a sign of my affection, and so much more. I would give you the world if only I were able. I have loved you for so very long. Cast aside your fear, my love. It means all that you wish it to… and more.” 

As if to punctuate his words, Watson once again reached up to kiss Holmes, drawing him closer, greedy for more. Very quickly, he was once again lost to the sensation of skin against skin, and he felt like he was floating on air, weightless and infinite. 

Eventually, Watson tried to pull away, to speak once more his mind now that he had leave, but Holmes was having none of it. He continued to kiss Watson, as if Watson were oxygen and he were a drowning man. Riding high on the revelation that Holmes  _ loved him, _ he submitted. He returned the kiss more fiercely, letting his hands wander over Holmes’ form.

After a few more blissful moments, Watson successfully pulled back, eliciting a humph of disapproval from Holmes. 

“Shall we try again?” he suggested, turning towards the wooden box, giving Holmes a heartfelt smile. Holmes looked at him with the most peculiar expression on his face as Watson continued to beam.

“What is it, my love?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing…” Holmes said absently. Still looking at him with something like awe. “I was merely wondering if it were at all possible to harness the power of expression and channel it into another source of energy.” Watson frowned at him with bewildered amusement at this non sequitur. “For that smile of yours, dear man, I am sure, could power an entire city.”

Watson was speechless for a moment, his heart swelled with affection at this odd compliment and his eyes once again threatened moisture. Overcome, he turned, carefully lifting up the box before holding it out to Holmes, shaking his head affectionately.

“Happy birthday, you ridiculous man.”

“Thank you, my dear Watson.”


End file.
